Fearing for a Ranger
by TrustTheCloak
Summary: Set in The Burning Bridge. What if Gilan had remained in Celtica and sent Will, Horace, and Evanlyn back to Araluen?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Ranger's Apprentice, nor any of the characters, though I wish I did.**

* * *

The following morning, of course, they were faced with the problem of what to do with Bart and Carney. The two bandits had spend a supremely uncomfortable night, tied back to back and so forced to sit upright on the stony ground. Several times during the night, Gilan had loosened their bonds for a few minutes to give their cramped muscles brief respite. He even eventually relented and allowed them a small amount of the party's food and water. But it was still a very unpleasant experience for them, made even more so because they had no idea with he planned to do with them in the morning.

And, truth to be told, neither did Gilan. He had no wish to take them along as prisoners. As it was, they had only four horses, counting the pack horse that had been carrying their camping supplies and would now have to carry Evanlyn as well. He felt that the news of Morgarath's puzzling foray into Celtica should be taken back to King Duncan as soon as possible, and dragging two prisoners along on foot would slow them down immeasurably. In addition, he was already considering the idea of sending Will on ahead at top speed. Ideally, he would go himself, but there were still answers he wished to find in Celtica. There were dangers with carrying the message, of course, but Gilan felt that staying to scout in Celtica carried more danger. Horace's battlehorse, Kicker, and the pack pony Evanlyn would ride would never keep pace with Tug's mile eating lope. Gilan reasoned that Horace, capable of defending himself, could accompany Evanlyn back to Araluen at a more comfortable rate.

So, faced with deciding these serious matters, he frowned to himself as he ate breakfast, allowing himself the luxury of a second cup of coffee from their dwindling supply. After all, he thought, if he did send the others home and remain in Celtica, it was the last coffee he'd see for some days. After a while he glanced up, caught Will's eye, and beckoned him over.

"Will, I'm thinking..." Gilan paused, thinking of how to best phrase his idea to the boy. "I'm thinking of sending you ahead with the news to King Duncan." Instantly he saw the look of alarm in Will's eyes.

"You mean alone?" Will asked, and Gilan nodded.

"This is vital news, Will, and it needs to get to King Duncan as soon as possible. Aside from anything else, it means that there'll be no reinforcements coming from Celtica. He needs to know that."

"But..." Will hesitated. He looked around the little campsite as if searching for some argument against Gilan's idea. "Why alone? Why can't you come? What about Horace and Evanlyn?"

Gilan recognized the self-doubt that was racking the boy. He stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let's walk a little." He said, and they began to pace away from the campsite. Blaze and Tug glanced up curiously as they passed, then realizing they weren't required, went back to cropping the sparse vegetation. "I know you're nervous, but you'll travel fastest alone. The pack pony and Horace's horse won't be able to keep up with Tug." Gilan held up a hand to cut off Will's protest. "I can't come, because I need to look around in Celtica more."

Will bit his lip. "How will Horace and Evanlyn get home? And you'll be alone in Wargal infested territory!"

Gilan gave a crooked smile. "Horace is more then capable of accompanying Evanlyn back to Araluen. As for me, I do know what I'm doing. I know that this is a lot to take in, but if I didn't think you could do it, I wouldn't have asked. I know you're worried about what happened with those four Wargals." Will paused to look at Gilan.

"Halt told you?" Will asked. There was a note of doubt in his voice. He wondered what Halt has said about his behavior. Gilan nodded gravely.

"Of course he told me. Will, you have nothing to be ashamed of, believe me."

"But, Gil, I panicked. I forgot all my training and I-"

Gilan held his hand up again to stop the torrent of self-recrimination. "Halt says you stood your ground." He said firmly. Will shuffled his feet.

"Well...I suppose so. But..."

"You were scared but you didn't run. Will, that's not cowardice. That's courage. That's the highest form of courage. Weren't you scared when you killed the Kalkara?"

"Of course." Will answered. "But that was different. It was forty meters away and attacking Sir Rodney."

"Whereas," Gilan finished for him, "The Wargal was ten meters away and coming straight at you. Big difference."

Will wasn't convinced. "It was Tug who saved me." Gilan grinned.

"Maybe he thought you were worth saving. He's a smart horse. And while Halt and I aren't nearly as smart as Tug, we think you've got what it takes too. Which is why I want you to carry the message to the King."

"It's so much responsibility. I doubt I can do it..." Will trailed off, looking down.

"Then don't!" Gilan said forcefully. "Self doubt is a disease. And if it gets out of control, it becomes self-fulfilling. You have to learn from what happened with those Wargals. Use the experience to make you stronger."

Will thought about Gilan's words for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "All right. What do you want me to do?"

Studying him for a moment, Gilan grinned broadly. There was a newfound determination in the boy's stance. "The plan is pretty straight forward. After we deal with our two little friends, you ride as fast as you possibly can to the King's camp."

* * *

** I've always wondered what would have happened if Gilan had a reason to remain in Celtica, and had sent Will, Horace and Evanlyn back to Araluen. As always, please review! Chapter two to be up soon, stay tuned! **


	2. Chapter 2

Gilan watched Horace and Evanlyn until they were out of sight. Will had left a few minutes before. Even after they were gone, the tall Ranger continued looking down the trail for several minutes, sorting out his thoughts. "It's best this way." He said finally, tearing his gaze away from the trail. Wargals were roaming throughout Celtica, and the Celtic people were nowhere to be found. It wouldn't have been fair to leave his three companions alone in enemy territory. His resolve made, Gilan quickly moved back to the camp. Before Horace had left, he had broken Carney's sword and hurled Bart's cudgel down a ravine. They had then tied the two bandits together. Gilan shrugged. They would escape eventually, but they didn't pose as a problem. Quickly finishing the last of the packing, Gilan saddled Blaze and mounted. Giving the tied bandits one last glare, the tall Ranger nudged Blaze softly with his heels and turned her deeper into Celtica.

* * *

They had been keeping a good pace when Blaze faltered. Perking her ears, she let out a soft, shuddering whinny. Heeding his mare's warning, Gilan strained his senses. Very faintly, he could hear voices. Singing? No, more like a chanting. Gently stroking Blaze on the neck, he said softly, "I hear it. Easy, girl. Still." The last word was an order. Gilan listened again. The chanting was growing louder. Gilan looked around him. If he didn't do something, and soon, he could find himself face to face with the chanting creatures. There wasn't much cover, save a few patches of bushes and the occasional small tree. Gilan quickly made up his mind. Dismounting, he gave a soft, three note whistle. Blaze immediately picked up a canter and began moving away-hopefully she would be far enough away by the time the chanting creatures passed. Gilan, on the other hand, swiftly made his way toward a larger patch of bushes. Settling himself on the ground, Gilan pulled his cloak around him, putting the full effect of the camouflage into action.

And not a moment too soon. Seconds after Gilan had settled himself into position, the first of the creatures appeared. Tall, bearlike build, canine teeth- Wargals. Gilan desperately hoped that Blaze was out of sight, but he didn't turn to check. Any movement could be fatal. Scarcely breathing, the young Ranger took in the scene before him. There were at least thirty Wargals, all marching in pace with the chant, and guarding... _Celts? _Gilan's mind was whirling. Why did Morgarath want the Celts? Though his mind was burning with questions, Gilan forced himself to remain still and still take in information. He felt a pang of sadness for one of the Celts as he collapsed. Though a Wargal struck him several times with a thick whip, the man did not respond. Gilan's horror increased as he realized the man was dead. The Wargal angrily tossed him off the road, then began his chant once more. Even after they had passed, Gilan remained still for several minutes. Halt had taught him too well to move the moment the enemy had passed. Finally, Gilan eased himself off the ground. He waited a minute more, then gave a louder two note whistle. A few minutes later, Blaze trotted into few. "You were wonderful." Gilan said fondly as he gave his mare a pat.

_Aren't I always?_

Gilan smiled, giving his head a slight shake. "Of course, Blaze."

* * *

**Sorry this took so long to update, and sorry it's so short! Other chapters will be longer. As always, please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

Gilan kept Blaze on a loose rein, allowing the mare to stretch her neck. They had been following the Wargals for a while now, Gilan immediately deciding that the passing group of Wargals and their Celtic prisoners deserved to be pursued. The Ranger had stayed in Celtica for information - it hardly seemed appropriate to not take advantage of the opportunity.

Following the Wargals had proven to be quite simple. They moved in a very straight forward direction, easily tracked by their loud, constant, rhythmic chanting. Blaze, nervous at first of the bear-like creatures, had eventually settled down, accepting the Wargals as part of the scenery. As he rode, Gilan couldn't help but wonder how his three young companions were faring. Will, he reasoned, would be getting ever closer to the King's camp. Horace and Evanlyn would be about a day behind the apprentice Ranger, assuming Will was riding at headlong pace Gilan had urged him to move at. Normally, the Rangers rode their horses at a mile eating lope - the pace Ranger horses could keep all day without tiring. However, time was of the essence, and Gilan was confident that Tug would be able to carry Will at a gallop, possibly cutting down the four day ride to three.

_Pay attention. _Blaze tossed her mane irritably.

Gilan ran his hand soothingly down her neck. "I am." He insisted. "I'm just worried about Will and Horace and Evanlyn."

_You did the right thing in sending them back to Araluen._

Gilan gave a small smile, then gave Blaze's neck another pat. "Maybe for them, but it calls for long days and equally long nights for me, with no one else to take watches."

Blaze snorted. _That's what you have me for. Do you honestly think I would let anything happen to you? _

Gilan gave a quiet chuckle. Feisty as his mare could be, her fierce protectiveness touched him. "Thanks, Blaze." And for once, Blaze let him have the last word.

* * *

It was Blaze who heard it first. Faint at first, then gradually growing louder - hammering, clanking, grunting and the like. Gilan hesitated. Truth to be told, he didn't exactly know what was beyond the up coming bend in the road, besides the rather ominous sounds. It would hardly be astute to ride trotting up the road, large as life. Wheeling Blaze around, he sent her back up the way they had come, stopping at a well sheltered area. Dismounting, he knotted the reins over her neck, not bothering to tie her. Stroking the wide white strip of hair on her face, the marking which had given his horse her name, he said softly, "Stay. I'll be back soon. But if anything happens, you run to Araluen."

Gilan wasn't planning on anything to go wrong. But if he was captured or killed, Blaze needed the order to leave. Ranger horses were stubbornly loyal. They would rather stay and help their fallen riders then save themselves. Gilan wouldn't allow Blaze to put herself at risk. Pulling the cowl of his cloak up, Gilan melted away into the shadows.

* * *

Gilan's breath caught as he took in the sight before him. A bridge. A massive wooden bridge. A massive wooden bridge across the Fissure. With a deep sense of foreboding, Gilan smoothly moved closer to the structure. "This is how he'll get his army across." Gilan said softly to himself. "He's going to trap us." It would be an easy win for Morgarath. With enemy forces closing in from either side, the Araluen army, placed as it was, would be destroyed. He had barely come to this conclusion before an alarm rang out. Sensibly, Gilan remained still. The Celtic prisoners, who had been working on the construction of the bridge, wearily dragged their feet back toward the tunnel. All except for two, anyway. Both were slightly hid from sight by a set of rocks. One appeared to be attempting to carry the seemingly unconscious other.

Gilan swiftly moved toward them, Halt's teaching ringing in his ears. _Don't over exaggerate trying to move unseen. This will only draw more attention to you. _Halt had said. _Move quietly and smoothly. It will be much more effective then short, mad dashes. _

Moving with the silence that only a trained Ranger could achieve, Gilan rapidly closed the distance between them. Still unnoticed by the Celt, he called softly, "Hello."

The Celt jumped. He was thin and covered in dust. His light blonde hair was matted with both dirt and traces of blood. His eyes, dulled by the months spent as prisoner, had a wide, fearful look. "Who are you?" He asked, his voice quavering as he took in the barely visible figure.

Gilan, using the same quiet, non threatening tone, replied, "Ranger Gilan of Araluen's Meric Fief. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help. What's your name?"

The Celt remained tense. "Alwyn." He replied abruptly. The man lying next to him coughed weakly, and Alwyn's attention was distracted. "Glendyss..." He said tenderly, sinking to his knees. Taking Glendyss's hand, Alwyn looked up at Gilan, tears cutting trails through the dirt on his face. "I-I can't carry him." Alwyn said thickly. "H-he's dying."

Gilan knelt next to the Celts. "I'll help you. Can you tell me about the bridge?"

Alwyn's tear-filled eyes widened. "No, no..." He said fearfully, his voice breaking with emotion. "They'll punish us."

Gilan bright eyes met the dull ones. "They won't know you told me, I swear. Celtica and Araluen will be destroyed unless I can figure out how to stop this bridge." The tall Ranger pleaded.

Alwyn shook his head, still clinging to Glendyss's hand. "Al?" Glendyss said softly.

"I'm here, friend. I'm not leaving." Alwyn replied, wiping the dirt off his friend's cheek.

Gilan spoke quickly. "Glendyss, please, tell me about the bridge. Is it all wood?"

Glendyss took a deep, rattling breath. "Yes."

Alwyn looked scared. "Glen, no! They'll punish you!"

Glendyss gave his friend a weak smile. "I'm dying, Alwyn. They can't hurt me anymore." His voice was soft but clear.

Alwyn's eyes welled with tears again, and he choked back a sob.

"How long before it's finished? Four days? Five?" Gilan asked.

"Five days at most." Glendyss wheezed, giving a violent cough. Gilan used his cloak to gently wipe away the trickle of blood from his cheek.

"And covering the ropes? It's tar, isn't it?"

Glendyss gave a barely visible nod. Gilan, his throat tight, said, "Thank you. Thank you so much." Turning to Alwyn, whose shoulders were shaking with silent sobs, Gilan murmured, "Where do you want him carried to?"

"To the-the Out of Light. Inside the tunnel."

Gilan nodded his understanding. Gently, he picked Glendyss up. Gilan, though thinly built, was stronger then he appeared and wasn't overly burdened with Glendyss's weight. Entering the tunnel, Alwyn close behind, Gilan set the man down behind a rock. "Rest well, Glendyss." Gilan said quietly.

Alwyn gave his friend's hand a final squeeze, muttering a goodbye that Gilan couldn't hear. Standing up, wiping his eyes, Alwyn moved closer the the exit of the tunnel. "He's like a brother to me. Thank you." Alwyn directed his gaze on the huge bridge just outside. "Ranger, how are you possibly going to bring down a bridge of that size?" Alwyn asked, his voice mixed with fear and doubt.

Gilan followed the Celt's gaze. "The bridge is wood with a decent amount of tar on it." Gilan said finally. "I have less then five days to get it down. I'd say the most logical course of action would be to burn it."

* * *

**Third chapter is finally up! Sorry for the wait.**

**-TrustTheCloak**


	4. Chapter 4

***Posts guiltily and avoids meeting any gazes...***

* * *

Gilan slowly folded the note and tied it carefully to the dee ring of Blaze's saddle. "Time for you to leave, girl." He said gently as he patted her neck, a sad smile on his face.

Blaze snorted and nudged Gilan's chest. _Not without you._

Gilan sighed and took Blaze's cheeks in his hands. Staring into her bright, intelligent eyes, he responded, "You have to, girl. Go to the King's camp. Find Halt and Abelard. They have to know about the Skandian attack, and the bridge." Gilan, after more scouting, had discovered a troop of Skandians, planning to attack the Araluen army from the rear.

Blaze gave a reluctant grumble._ Fine. Don't do anything stupid._

Gilan forced a short laugh. "I'll try my best, Blaze. You know that."

Blaze nuzzled her master a last time. Then, tossing her mane, she moved into a trot, heading towards Araluen. She paused once, turning to give a soft, shuddering whinny. Gilan felt a strange prickling in his eyes at the sound, then shook his head impatiently to rid it. The Ranger cleared his throat, then turned back to his small, gloomy camp. There were preparations to be done. Tonight he would destroy Morgarath's bridge.

* * *

Several hours later found Gilan carefully stretching his cramped muscles. He had waited patiently for this moment - when the bridge was quiet and the light was dark and uncertain. Moving silently, instinctively blending with the shadows, the young Ranger carefully padded to the planks leading across the Fissure to the almost finished bridge. Idly, he noted that the distance was much shorter then the previous day when he had crossed to speak to Alwyn and Glendyss. At this rate, the bridge would be finished in two days, at most. Carefully stepping onto the planks, he paused as they creaked ominously. The Ranger had a fleeting mental image of the wood snapping, sending him plunging to the bottom of the crevice, before he quickly banished the thought. All the same, his steps become noticeably more meticulous, his eyes more solidly focused on his destination. Gilan normally had a good head for heights, but given the circumstances, now wasn't the time to test that tolerance.

Gilan gave a quiet breath of relief as soon as he set foot on the more solid structure of the bridge, then unsheathed his saxe. Kneeling, he began to pry up the soft pine boards. It was a time consuming process, but Gilan barely noticed. Board after board came up, set neatly to the side. Finally, the Ranger leaned back. Standing, he gathered up an armful of the planks and moved them to the other side. This process went on, until Gilan had what he figured to be about half of the wood he had gathered moved to the far side of the bridge. Choosing a plank, the Ranger unsheathed his saxe once again, then ran the razor sharp knife down the side, resulting in a thin curl of wood. He did this a while longer, the pile of feather light curls growing larger. Critically eyeing his handiwork, Gilan nodded to himself, satisfied. He had always been a natural at building fires, and these neat pyres were no exception. A small smile touched his face as sparks flew from his flint and steel, lighting the kindling. Running swiftly to the other side of the bridge, he did the same to the other pyre, watching it carefully to make sure it caught. It became a process, running back and forth to check each fire. He couldn't afford to let them go out. Finally, both fires flared strongly.

Gilan gave a breathy laugh. His body was pumping with adrenaline. His hands were shaking, and he unsuccessfully willed them to still. "Time to go." He muttered to himself, beginning to run to the narrow boards.

Naturally, a he gave several backward glances. At his last look, a faint light emitted from the tunnel. Gilan's heart sank like a stone at the sight. Slowly, numbly, he turned around. So maybe he wouldn't make it out after all, Gilan thought, more frustrated then angry. He had been so close. Yet if he left now, everything would be in vain. The enemy would put out his fires. The note he had on Blaze's saddle would be a lie, but the army who found it wouldn't know that. They would trust it, because it was a Ranger who had sent it. Gilan squared his shoulders, and selected an arrow from his quiver. The bridge would go down; he would make sure of it. Unfeelingly, the man moved to the cliff at other side of the bridge.

The enemy was at the base of the cave by now - Wargals, he could now tell. Gilan could remember stories from when he was a small boy, shortly after the first war with Morgarath, that his father had told him. Large, brutish creatures, without any sense of compassion, Sir David had told him. He remembered his mother had told his father off after Gilan had nightmares after a particularly detailed account.

Of course, Gilan had seen Wargals before. He had seen a large pack of them just two days before. But that had been in broad daylight, out of sight and observing. Now, in the nighttime shadows, their grotesque features eerily illuminated by torch light, and confronting them, not observing, they became shockingly more disturbing.

Gilan nocked an arrow, and with a steadiness that defied the consternation he was feeling, fired into the leading Wargal's chest. The ugly creature sagged to the ground. Its companions gave several high pitched growls, then scattered for cover as another gray shafted arrow found its mark in the throat of the Wargal on the far right side. Hesitantly, one of the surviving creatures peeked it's head from behind the rock it was sheltered behind. Without hesitation, Gilan let loose another arrow, which skirted off the side of the rock, creating a spray of sparks. The Wargal ducked back with a grunt.

Gilan had twenty-one arrows left - it seemed like a lot, Gilan knew, but once he really started using them they would deplete quickly. His saxe and throwing knife were too small for close fighting against the Wargal's heavy weapons. He could throw them, in hopes of hitting a fatal area, but the lighting was difficult, and even if they did hit, they would be good for only one throw. That left his sword.

While the Ranger had been running over options in his mind, a Wargal attempted to run from his cover to the next rock cropping. A arrow entered it before it made it a quarter of the way. _20 arrows... _Gilan thought with increasing misgivings. Of the five original Wargals who had exited the cave, only two remained. However, reinforcements could come anytime. He had barely had the thought when voices came from the tunnel. Not the Wargals' unintelligible grunts, but human voices, thickly accented. The Skandians, Gilan realized.

Of course, that didn't make things any better. "Why does everything Morgarath hires have to be built like a bear?" Gilan muttered irritably, nocking another arrow.

The first of the Skandians appeared, and Gilan shot, knowing the moment that he let the arrow fly that the shot was bad. Not the aim, mind you. It would have been good had it not been for the carriage wheel sized shield the giant man was carrying. The broadhead embedded itself into the wood, not touching the man. Feeling the impact on the shield, the Skandian called to his companions, and the group quickly shifted they shields to cover the front of their bodies, mainly the torsos. Then again, Gilan thought, even a minor wound could put a man of of battle as well as killing him. Quickly, Gilan shot again and caught one of the closer men in the leg. He cried out in pain and fell as his leg buckled. The others increased their pace.

They were getting closer now. Gilan got off three more arrows before tossing his bow aside. Two of them found their marks, one puncturing an upper arm, the other in a calf. The third hit another shield. There was a hiss as Gilan drew his sword from his scabbard. It felt decidedly inadequate compared to the massive, heavy battle axes the Skandians were wielding. Gilan cast a nervous glance at the bridge; only two of the cables remained, and they were almost burned through. The Ranger swallowed and turned back to the Skandians who had almost reached him.

And was knocked to the ground as a heavy body rammed into him before he could attempt to defend himself, swiping his sword from his hand and sending it clattering over the cliff edge.

"Pity." Gilan breathed, trying to get his breath back, feeling a pang of sorrow despite himself as he watched his sword disappear into the Fissure. Halt had given him that sword the day he had graduated. It was a fine sword, made by the same men who made the fantastically hard Ranger knives. Watching his lovely blade disappear from sight hurt as much as punch to the gut. Desperately, the Ranger struggled to his feet, though he had nothing sufficient to defend himself with.

Lightheaded, his ears ringing and still fighting for breath, he didn't register the movement of the Skandian behind him. The large, bearlike man raised his arm, and Gilan staggered as the rock crashed into his head, dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. His right knee twisted sharply on the uneven terrain as he fell. The last things he registered before slipping into a blissful unconsciousness was a breezy pain in his knee, the sight of the last cable on the bridge breaking, and the terrifying sensation of falling.

* * *

**My poor, sweet Gilan... **

**Many thanks to CrazedFangirl13 for encouraging me to get this chapter up. I feel bad for such a long wait in the update, but my muse was DEAD. I do have the outline for the next few chapters, however, so I should be on more of a schedule from now on. Though I really don't deserve it, I would appreciate reviews. **

**-TrustTheCloak**


	5. Chapter 5

**This chapter carries us to more action... and more angst. Forgive me; most of the Skandian dialogue is from the book, as the plot could not move forward without it. I do have major changes in this story planned, however.**

* * *

The bridge collapsing... Falling... Fear.

Slowly, Gilan drifted into consciousness, sluggishly blinking his blue eyes open. The sharp, pounding ache in his head made him wish that he had remained unconscious. He was propped crookedly up against a rock, his right leg carefully stretched in front of him. With a quiet, involuntary groan, the Ranger slowly lifted his hand to his head, gently touching the spot behind his left ear that seemed to be the source of the pain. When he brought his hand back, warm, wet blood was coating his fingers.

"You're awake, finally," came the deep, thickly accented voice of a Skandian. With enormous effort, Gilan turned to face the speaker, his eyes still not completely focusing, but being able to make out the general outline of the burly man who he recognized as the leader. "Thought we were going to lose you over the cliff edge - Nordal grabbed you at the last second. Good throw with that rock."

The Ranger merely rested his head back onto the rock, trying to soothe his worsening headache. The sharp pain in his knee was becoming more noticeable as he slowly became more alert. Dully, Gilan realized that it wasn't an injury he would bounce back from in a day or two. Taking a deep, steadying breath, the Ranger gathered his thoughts and directed his words toward the Skandian leader.

"The bridge? It's gone?" Gilan was slightly surprised at how feeble his voice sounded - it was thin and hoarse, little more then a whisper.

"It's gone." The large blonde Skandian confirmed, then frowned. "And no thanks from Morgarath you'll get from it."

Gilan didn't answer, instead choosing to close his eyes and gently rub his temple. Fear was blossoming in his chest at the mention of Morgarath, a fear he tried desperately to quell. It was common knowledge that the Lord of the Mountains of Rain and Night harbored a deep, long found hatred against Ranger; ironically, a hatred that had started with Halt. Deciding that imagining his own doom was not helping him in any way, Gilan let his mind focus on the talking Skandians, who had moved slightly away to unpack for quick meal.

"So what do we do now?" The one called Nordal asked, questioningly toward their leader.

"We're going to get out of here. We only came for the booty, and there's going to be precious little of that now that the bridge is gone." The leader decided with a shrug, taking a large bite from the piece of dried fish he was holding.

"Morgarath won't like it if we pull out, Erak." A shorter member of the group said worriedly. "And Morgarath seems a bad person to cross."

Erak shrugged once more, and replied in a flat tone, "Look, Horak, we're not here to help Morgarath take over Araluen. We fight for profit, and when there's no profit to be had, I say we go."

Horak gestured to Gilan, still leaning crookedly against the rock. "What are we going to do with him?"

Erak thought for only a moment before replying, "We'll take him with us."

Gilan felt as shocked as the Skandian looked. He had expected to be handed, possibly with a ribbon on him, over to Morgarath, who would no doubt enjoy torturing him as some compensation for burning the bridge.

Nordal cut in. "Hold it, Erak!" he said, disbelief evident in his voice. "What good is he to us, concussed and crippled as he is? I say we hand him over to Morgarath and be done with it!"

"I'll tell you," Erak growled. "I'll tell you what good he is to us. First and foremost, he's a hostage, isn't he?"

"A hostage?" snorted the fourth member of the group, who, up to this point, had not spoken.

Erak rounded on him. "That's right, Svengal. A hostage. Now, I've been on more raids and in more campaigns then any of you and I don't like the way this one's shaping up. Seems to me like Morgarath's been getting too clever for his own good. All this leaking false plans, and building secret tunnels and bridges, and sending Horth and his men in a surprise attack from behind - it's too complicated. You know we don't do complicated attacks, and especially not when you're facing enemies like the Araluens."

"Horth could still attack from around the Thorntree..." Svengal began, but Erak cut him off.

"He could. But he doesn't know the bridge is down. He'll be expecting reinforcements that will never come, and I wager Morgarath won't hurry to tell him. That's the problem with these clever-clever plans! You take away one element and the whole thing can come crashing down."

There was a short silence before Erak continued. "Like I said, the way things are shaping, we should take the chance to get to Horth's ships through the fens."

"Why not go the way we came?" Horak asked, but Erak shook his head decidedly.

"And try to get down those cliffs again, with Morgarath after us for deserting? No, thank you. We'll go along with him as far as Three Step Pass, then once we're in the open, we'll head for the coast." He paused to let it sink in, then continued, "And we have the one we caught at the bridge as hostage in case the Araluens try to stop us." Erak was quite satisfied with his plan. This experience had only more firmly reinforced in his mind that straightforward attacks were the only way to go.

"He's little more than a lad, and injured, now, as well. What use is the Araluen as a hostage?" Nordal wanted to know, scuffing his boot toe in the dirt.

Erak allowed a small, grim smile. "He's a Ranger. You see the oakleaf he's wearing?"

Gilan lowered his eyes self consciously as every pair of eyes turned to study him, carefully not meeting any eye contact for fear they saw the anxiety in his own blue orbs. Erak continued.

"That's their symbol. He's one of them, and they look after their own."

_Sorry, Will, _Gilan thought desperately. _Sorry Crowley, and Halt. Especially Halt._ Halt, who had spent five years training, protecting, and bonding with him. Gilan hated to let him down, the one person who had been his near constant companion for the more recent years of his life. Gilan closed his eyes, not willing to share the pain he knew was showing through them.

"Fair enough." Nordal agreed.

Erak turned his gaze, studying each of his men. Skandians were warriors, of course, and hardened. But they weren't totally ruthless. Erak also wasn't willing to leave the Ranger to Morgarath for the reason of the sheer cruelty Morgarath would show him. Erak admired the way the young man had stood his ground, the bravery he had shown. The young, brave Ranger didn't deserve to die with Morgarath, Erak decided as they prepared to leave, watching the Araluen stagger slowly to his feet, his face gritted with pain, unable to put hardly any weight on his injured leg.

"Can you walk?" Erak asked. "Or does Nordal have to carry you again?"

The Ranger, his teeth still clenched with pain, gave a defiant gaze. Erak felt a spark of approval at the angry determination he saw in the lad's still blood smeared face.

"No one's carrying me. I'll walk."

* * *

**Sorry for the long wait. Many thanks to CrazedFangirl13 for keeping me motivated on this story. Next few chapters will be more action filled.**

**Leave a review if you have time! ^^**

**-TrustTheCloak**


	6. Chapter 6

After only an hour, however, Nordal ended up carrying the Ranger. They had a long way to travel, and Gilan's limping, crippled gait was not the pace Erak wanted to be moving at. It was several hours after dark before the leader called for a break. Nordal unceremoniously slid Gilan to the ground; the Ranger's knee buckled as he tried to catch himself, and Gilan crumpled, blinking back the involuntary tears that sprang to his eyes.

They hadn't tied Gilan, and for that small fact, Gilan was grateful. Already burdened with a headache and the pain in his knee, at least he didn't have to cope with the ache of being tied as well. Horak had originally protested, only to be silenced by an exasperated Erak: "He can barely walk, Horak! What makes you think he'll be able to run away?"

As if he had anywhere to run, anyway. The plain was filled with Morgarath's Wargals, who could happily kill him without a second thought, the young Ranger thought dully. Still, he couldn't help playing with the idea. Perhaps he could sneak away, then carefully avoid the Wargals as he made his way back to the Araluen forces. The chances of that plan actually working was immeasurably slim. Still, wasn't it better to try?

Svengal picked up a large copper pot, and moved into the direction of a creek they had been following. With great effort, Gilan forced himself onto his good leg, hovering his right foot slightly above the ground. "I can get water," the Ranger said, trying to sound innocent. As he said it, however, Erak's head snapped up from where he had been rummaging.

"Not a chance!" The Skandian barked. "You're not tied, but you're not leaving our sight. You might be crippled, but you're a Ranger, and you'll run for it."

Gilan cocked his head in a naive fashion. "Like you said, I'm hurt. I'm not going to try to escape," he said carefully.

Erak gave a snort of disbelief. "And also as I said, you're a Ranger. No, you stay where I can keep an eye on you."

Gilan gave a shrug and carefully lowered himself back down. Leaning his head back against the rock, he watched them set up the meal without much enthusiasm. He accepted the small bowl of stew that Svengal shoved into his hands, and forced himself to eat it despite his lack of appetite. Halt had noticed that habit, Gilan reflected. His mentor had noticed that the more stressed or edgy he became, the more his already small appetite faded. It had bothered Halt to no end, who claimed that it was unhealthy, Gilan noted with a small smile, despite himself.

Though he was lost in thought, Gilan was still the first in the group to pick up the sound of hoofbeats and the Wargal chant. Immediately whipping his head in their direction, Gilan squinted, noting the large group of Wargals and the pure white horse in the middle. Erak turned as well, and instantly sprang to his feet with a curse.

"Quick, Nordal!" The leader hissed at his men. "Get the boy behind the rocks! That's Morgarath on the white horse!"

Gilan was carried - more like dragged - to the rocks. Horak and Nordal carefully positioned themselves to cover him, and Erak muttered from the corner of his mouth, "Not a sound."

Gilan, scarcely breathing, studied the approaching figure. He had heard many horror stories of the evil baron, and it was slightly unnerving to be seeing him in person, this close, especially when he, as a Ranger, was such a hated figure.

"Captain Erak, where are you bound?" Morgarath began in a low, snakelike tone. Shuddering, Gilan carefully positioned himself to where he could see the owner of the voice. The white horse sidestepped, and Morgarath gave a harsh jerk on the reins that made Gilan wince.

"My title, Lord Morgarath, " The Skandian said calmy, not showing any ill effect from terrible, chilling voice, "is not 'Captain', but 'Jarl'."

"Well then," the ice cold voice responded, "I must remember that, in case it is ever of the slightest interest to me. Now... _Captain_," Gilan noted that he placed extra emphasis on the title he used. "I repeat, where are you bound?"

Morgarath urged to horse forward (a sign of dominance, Gilan was sure). As a horseman himself, Gilan decided that the horse looked quite ill. Instead of a sleek, glossy coat and the usual confident eyes of a Battlehorse, this animal had an ugly, dull coat, and wild, rolling eyes.

"We thought we'd join your forces at Three Step Pass, my lord," Erak continued, not stepping back from Morgarath's display of dominance despite the horse being almost on top of him. "I assume you will still go forward with your attack, even thought the bridge is down."

Morgarath swore at the mention of the bridge. Gilan's brain may have automatically filtered what the baron said, as the actual words may have made his ears bleed. That being said, the filtered words would have still earned him a slap on the back of his head from Halt if he had ever said them. Craning his neck slightly to see the tall, pale haired, vulture like enemy, Gilan froze as Morgarath's dark, dead eyes bore directly into his hiding spot. Not trusting himself to blink, Gilan found himself staring into those dead eyes until Morgarath finally tore his gaze away.

"Yes, the attack will go on. Now that Duncan has has forces deployed and in what he thinks is a strong defensive position, he'll allow us to come out onto the Plains before attacking."

"At which point, Horth will take him in the rear," Erak put in.

"Exactly. It would be preferable if there were two flanking forces as I'd originally planned, but one should get the job done."

"My thoughts as well, my lord." Erak agreed, but Morgarath's expression only too clearly said that he didn't care if Erak agreed with him or not. It was Morgarath's overbearing, arrogant attitude that was irritating Gilan most. Stories that Gilan had begged to hear, both from Halt and Crowley, were so far spot on in describing Morgarath's personality.

Gilan relaxed slightly as he listened to Morgarath and Erak's exchange about a fellow Skandian mercenary; Morgarath's disdain, Erak's retort. A moment later, however, the young blond Ranger tensed once more.

"Chirath told me you took a prisoner at the bridge - a mighty warrior. I don't see him." Once again, Morgarath peered into the gloomy rock pile where Gilan was hidden. Erak gave a scornful laugh.

"If Chirath was in charge, then neither did he. He spent his time hiding behind a rock dodging arrows."

"What did you do with the prisoner?" Morgarath pressed.

Erak scoffed. "Dead, obviously. Nordal hit him over the head with a rock and we threw him over the side."

"A fact that is most displeasing," Morgarath said, and Gilan felt a wave of anxiety flood through him. "I was intending to torture him. You should have brought him to me alive."

"And we would have," Erak growled, "if he hadn't been whipping arrows around our ears. The only way to take him was to kill him."

"Arrows?" Morgarath cut in. "Hmmm..." Gilan could practically hear the wheels turning in his head as he put two and two together. Finally, Morgarath answered. "Be warned for the future. I did not approve of your actions."

Erak didn't answer, eventually shrugging. Morgarath glared and sharply turned his horse, turning back once to call, "I'll see you at Three Step Pass, _Captain_. Don't even think about deserting. You'll fight with us to the end."

"Of course, my lord, " Erak replied, barely masking the sarcasm in his voice as he watched Morgarath gallop his dead white horse back toward the army. Collectively, everyone in the clearing gave an exhale of relief. "Gives me the creeps, that one," Erak said, rolling his shoulders in a shudder. Moving behind the rocks, he roughly pulled Gilan to his feet. "You heard that, yes?" The Skandian said roughly, giving the slim young man a small shake. "That's all that awaits you if you somehow get away from us."

Gilan, his jaw set, nodded. Satisfied that his threat had made its point, Erak shoved him toward Nordal. "Let's move out," he called, crushing the embers of the fire with his boot. The embers sounded like weak bones breaking, and Gilan was reminded once again of just how vulnerable he really was.

* * *

**There will be honest to goodness action in the next chapter, I swear! These build up chapters are tedious but necessary. I apologize for the lack of updates (on all my stories, really). Life is life and sometimes interferes with my lovely world of fanfiction.**

**Reviews earn Gilan a hug!**

**-TrustTheCloak**


	7. Chapter 7

"Just keep your mouths shut and your eyes down!" Erak had ordered his men as they shoved their way into a crowd of jogging Wargals. The Ranger was semi conscious in Nordal's grip. He had begun to run a high fever from what Erak could only guess was from his wounds and stress.

The narrow confines of the Pass echoed to the tuneless chanting; the Wargals cadence. Erak's plan was to move eastward as soon as they had cleared the Pass, ostensibly with the purpose of taking up position on the right flank of the Wargal army. In actuality, however, Erak planned to break off as soon as possible and escape into the swampy wilderness of the fenlands, moving through the bogs to the beach where he knew Horth's fleet would be.

They rounded a final bend and were greeted by a lance of almost blinding light as they reached the tunnel. The Ranger hesitated, jerking his head away from the brightness as the light hit his eyes. _ No wonder the Celts loved the tunnels so much, _was the first thought Gilan's fever addled brain offered him. Nordal quickly yanked him forward. Erak directed them to the right, and they formed a human wedge until they were to the far right of the army. A familiar ice cold voice could be heard, called commands to the Wargals. Morgarath was here, directing operations.

"Curse him! Of all the places he could be!" Erak muttered angrily. "I'd hoped he'd be out with the vanguard of the army." Turning to Nordal, he said quickly, "Keep the boy moving."

Gilan was fading rapidly. Every movement felt like knives in his knee, and he felt lightheaded and faint from his head wound and fever. He would have collapsed a long while ago had Nordal not kept a firm grip on him, keeping him upright whether he wanted to or not, muttering threats and encouragement alike. Blinking away the crumbling black dots at the edge of his vision, Gilan could make out the tall, thin form of Lord Morgarath, now clad in polished black armor, still seated on his dull coated white horse. He was calling orders to his milling, chanting Wargals.

As the creatures moved into a more ordered formation, Morgarath's face turned and took in the group of hurrying Skandians. Kicking his horse into a gallop, Morgarath moved toward them, almost trampling several of his own soldiers. "Captain Erak! Stop!"

"Don't stop. Go, go, go. Keep him on his feet!" Erak barked, directing his last order at Nordal as Gilan stumbled.

"Stop! Stop, NOW!" The voice was cold and filled with a terrifying, intense anger. The Wargals froze, uncomfortable by their master's sharp tone. Reluctantly, the Skandians did the same, Erak turning to face the owner of the dominating voice.

Morgarath hauled his horse to a stop as he reached them. Locking his dark, livid eyes with Erak's grey ones, Morgarath slowly dismounted, the building tension in the air palpable. "Where are you bound, Captain?" he asked, his voice eerily calm.

Erak shrugged. "My men and I normally fight on the right wing," he answered as casually as he could. "But I'll go wherever you need us if that doesn't suit."

Morgarath arched an eyebrow. "Will you?" he replied, sarcasm practically dripping from his speech. "Will you indeed? How terribly kind of you..." Morgarath trailed off, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the slim, lanky figure being held up and unsuccessfully trying to be held hidden from his gaze behind several of the Skandians. "Who is that?" He demanded, his former sentence forgotten.

Erak forced another nonchalant shrug. "Just a Celt. We captured him in Celtica and were planning on selling him to Ragnak as a slave."

"Celtica is mine, Captain, as is everything in it," Morgarath informed him coldly. "That means any slaves are mine, not yours to sell to your barbarian of a king."

A ripple of anger ran through the Skandians at Morgarath's words. Morgarath's narrowed gaze flicked to his Wargal troops, poised and read for whatever action their master ordered. The message was clear.

Erak motioned for silence from his men and tried again. "The prisoner is injured; not any use to you right now. Besides, our agreement was we fought for booty, and that includes slaves -"

"IF you fought!" Morgarath cut him off, furious. "_IF_! Not if you stood by uselessly and let my bridge be destroyed!"

"It was your man Chirath who was in command at the bridge," Erak retorted. "It was he who decided no guard was to be left on it. We were the ones who tried to save it while he was hiding behind rocks!"

Morgarath's voice dropped deadly low. "I will not be spoken to in that fashion, _Captain _Erak." he hissed. "You will apologize to me at once. Then..." He once again trailed off mid sentence. His black gaze turned and trained on Gilan. "What is that?" He raised one thin, pale finger towards Gilan's throat. Erak felt his stomach sink like a stone.

Though they had hidden the distinctive mottled cloak and double knife scabbard, they had neglected to remove the silver oakleaf. Morgarath surged forward like a snake about to strike and snatched at the oakleaf. The harsh yank pulled Gilan off balance, and between the vertigo in his head and the gimp leg, he fell heavily to his knees, unable to hold back a cry of pain as he landed. Fever bright eyes stared up at Morgarath's face, taking in every furious detail.

"This is no Celt!" The rogue baron raged. "This is a _Ranger_! This is their sign!"

"He's just a lad..." Erak began quickly, but Morgarath's sharp backhand blow across his cheek cut him off.

"He's a Ranger!" he seethed.

The rest of the Skandian group moved forward angrily. Morgarath simply looked at the Wargals, who growled and positioned themselves into a fighting stance. Erak signaled for his men to settle, the red mark from Morgarath's blow standing out vividly on his cheek.

"You knew," The baron accused. "You knew what he was!" His expression, if possible, grew even darker as realization dawned on him. "Arrows, you said! My Wargals were hiding from _arrows _when the bridge went down! Ranger weapons! This is the swine who destroyed my bridge!" The voice rose into a shriek as he spoke.

Erak stood before the raging Black Lord and said nothing, but let a sorrowful gaze fall onto the Araluen Ranger. _Sorry, lad, _he thought despairingly. _I tried._

Gilan, only semi conscious from fever and pain, met Morgarath's black gaze, and felt a small tug of bravery. _If you're going to go down, _Halt had always said, _it's better to go down kicking. Don't let them crush your dignity._

Just as Gilan had come to this conclusion, another horse suddenly forced its way through the crowd. Riding it was one of Morgarath's Wargal lieutenants, one who had learned basic human speech.

"My lord!" he called, in the odd, flat monotone of all Wargals. "Enemy advancing."

Morgarath broke his furious gaze from the contemptible form of the crippled Ranger to his lieutenant, who continued. "Their skirmish line moving to us, my lord. Battle is starting."

The Lord of Rain and Night came to a decision. Whirling to Erak, he barked, "Captain! The Ranger comes with us."

Erak looked quickly at the Araluen, knowing the horrors that were in store. "He can't walk. Nordal's been carrying him," The Skandian tried once more.

"Then Nordal will continue carrying him. But he comes with us. I'm not letting a Ranger slip through my fingers." Morgarath mounted his dead white horse once more. A terrible smile that didn't reach his eyes broke through on his face. "It's time the Araluens see first hand what happens when their _Rangers_ meddle."

And with that, he urged his horse into a canter, Nordal giving his leader a helpless look before being shoved after him by the Wargal lieutenant's spear.

* * *

**PLOT TWIST!**

**Sorry for the long wait in updating. My folder is full of half finished stories that I would like to get up, so (hopefully?) watch for them, along with updates in this story, _I'm NOT Overreacting,_ and _The Little Things in Between._**

**Leave a review if you have time or so desire! :)**

**-TrustTheCloak**


	8. Chapter 8

***Posts quietly, then sneaks away without making eye contact...***

* * *

Morgarath watched, furious, as his line was systematically cut to pieces. There was no tactic he could could devise to counter Sir David's brilliantly planned counter attack. Even if there had been, he could never have communicated it to his slow minded Wargals. They understood basic commands - fight, kill, retreat - but an elaborate battle plan was beyond them. Their advantage in battle was their complete savagery and confidence in victory. Now, a large shadow had settled over them.

Fear.

That awful, crippling feeling that could render someone or something completely at another's mercy. Morgarath had sensed it, the panic and defeat that had started to seep through. He had tried to force them forward, but the fear against the new tactics from the enemy was too strong. They still fought with ferocious intent, and the Araluen forces had taken a toll, but their resolve had begin to crumble, along with their formation. Defeat was near, and Morgarath knew it.

Overwhelmed with fury, Morgarath sent an order he had only given once before: Retreat.

His forces were in a tangled, confused mess. There would be no easy escape for him, but escape was the last thing on his mind. His only thought now was revenge. Revenge against the people who had brought his careful plan hopelessly crashing.

His Skandian attack had melted away. It had never been Skandians on that ridge, he realized. Someone had defeated Horth's forces in the forest, and deep down, Morgarath knew who it had been. It had been one of the meddling, hated Rangers, and only one could have done it.

Halt.

Because of Halt his dream had crumbled for the second time in fifteen years. Because of Halt, half of his forces were lying broken in a battlefield.

Only one thing consoled the tyrant. He had the young, crippled Ranger, already close on hand. Nothing would break Halt like seeing one of his comrades in Morgarath's unforgiving grip. Morgarath nodded to himself, a manic smile forming on his face. If he managed to break Halt's spirit, that would be victory enough. Turning to one of his captains, Morgarath gave an order.

"Prepare a flag of truce."

* * *

Morgarath and his remaining soldiers were in a defensive formation at the base of the cliffs. The soft marshy ground held the cavalry back and there was no option but to take the infantry forward and finish the job in bloody hand to hand fighting.

Any normal commander would have seen the inevitable result by now and surrendered to spare the lives of his remaining soldiers. But this was Morgarath, and they knew there would be no negotiating. It would be a bloody and senseless fight, but there was no alternative. Once and for all, Morgarath's power must be broken.

Duncan had come to this conclusion long before his front rank stopped a meager hundred meter from Morgarath's defending circle. "Nevertheless," the King said grimly, the violence of the day wearing on him. "We'll give him the chance to surrender." The King took a deep breath, about to order his trumpeter to sound a parley, when there was movement at the front of the Wargal army.

"They... They have a flag of truce, sir," Baron Arald said from his right, his tone incredulous.

Duncan's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he watched the white flag carried forth and heard the notes of parley being played from the enemy's horn. Of all things Morgarath could have done, this was the least expected. Duncan hesitated, the apprehension clear on his face, before making up his mind. "I suppose we'd better hear what he has to say," he said. "Give the reply."

The trumpeter quickly moistened his lips before carrying out the ordered four ascending notes. Halt's face was set in a hard line as he shook his head.

"It will be some kind of trick," the Ranger said shortly. They were all aware that Halt had been on edge ever since Gilan's bay mare had run into the army camp, lathered, wild, and unwilling to let anyone but Halt and Will near her. Sir David had also been noticeably more irritable, no doubt extremely worried for his son. It was common knowledge that without Gilan's warning about the Skandians, the Araluen army would have been crushed. The continued absence of the young Ranger was troubling, given his less then optimistic note attached to Blaze's saddle. "Morgarath will send a herald to talk while he makes his escape," Halt continued with a frown, "He'll..."

Halt trailed off as the Wargal ranks parted and a figure rode forward. Immensely tall and thin, clad in black armor, a beaked helmet, and mounted on a distinctive white horse, it was, without a doubt, Morgarath. Halt's hand immediately went to his quiver, and within a second, a black shafted arrow was laid on his bowstring. The Ranger's eyes never left the mounted figure, not trusting him for a moment.

Duncan saw Halt's movement, and said sharply, "Halt. I've agreed to a truce. You won't cause me to break my word, even to Morgarath."

The trumpet signal was a pledge of safety, and even as Halt inwardly cursed the intricacies of the knight's code, he returned the arrow to his quiver. Duncan made quick eye contact with Arald, signaling him to keep a close eye on the Ranger. Halt saw it and shrugged. If he chose to put an arrow in Morgarath's heart, neither Duncan nor Arald nor anyone else would be fast enough to stop him.

Slowly, the thin figure on the white horse moved forward, his Wargal standard bearer before him. A low murmur rose among the army as they caught sight of the man who had been a constant threat and fear for the past fifteen years. Morgarath stopped a mere thirty meters out, and his eyes narrowed in hatred as he caught sight of the figure hunched in a grey mottled cloak, mounted on a shaggy pony.

"Duncan!" His sneering voice carried across the plains. "I claim my rights!"

"You have no rights!" Duncan shot back. "You're a rebel and a traitor and a murderer. Surrender now and your men will be spared. This is the only right I will grant you!"

Morgarath snorted in contempt. "I challenge you to single combat!" Morgarath gestured to the advisers surrounding the King. "Or are you too cowardly to accept the challenge? Are you willing to let thousands more of your men die while you hide behind them?"

Duncan paused, caught off guard. Rodney, David, and Arald were all looking at him in question, while Halt's dark gaze stayed steadily fixed on Morgarath. Morgarath, sensing the pause in activity, continued.

"Speaking of your men, did you know I caught one of your Rangers?"

Everyone momentarily froze as they absorbed the information. Morgarath, noticing the affect his words had, continued with a smirk. "Oh, you didn't! I'll admit, he's a handful. Young, too; looks barely older then an apprentice."

Halt's face was ashen and the hand holding his bow was clenched white. "Morgarath, turn him loose. Now."

Morgarath gave a demeaning laugh, clearly relishing Halt's reaction. "I don't think I will, Halt. One less Ranger sneaking around for me to worry about. Besides, this whelp couldn't get away even if I did let him go."

Halt inhaled sharply. "What did you do to him, you coward?"

The tyrant's eyes glittered manically. "Oh, I didn't do anything. It was mainly caused by a series of unfortunate events." Morgarath eyed the group of Araluens gleefully. It was going better then he could have imagined, and he still had his trump card to play.

"Would you like to see him?" The tyrant called out mockingly. "Nordal! Let the people see their Ranger!"

A Skandian made his way out from behind several Wargals, and Halt felt like he had been kicked in the gut as he caught sight of the figure being supported by the sea wolf. He would have recognized that tall, thin frame anywhere, the familiar blonde hair that fell like an unruly stallion's mane, now dirtied and matted with blood. The Skandian hastily positioned the figure by Morgarath before hastily retreating back behind the Wargals.

"Your broken, pathetic Ranger," Morgarath sneered as the figure swayed, then crumpled as his knee buckled.

Halt felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he watched his student fall. "Gilan," he whispered.

* * *

**Continuing plot twist... I'm truly excited to write this next chapter. Sometimes it's hard to motivate yourself to write when you have a relatively slow part, but this next section is the part that I've been wanting to write since chapter one.**

**Reviews make me happy.**

**-TrustTheCloak**


End file.
